Went to St. Cloud today with my mom. I need posters for my dorm room, I've decided, and I spent an hour in the little print store in St. Cloud trying to find a good one that wasn't trendy. As in, no Matrix posters and nothing I've seen in my neighbors rooms. I couldn't decide, but I'll be back there later, methinks.

I chickened out, that is, am still chickening out, of calling people tonight. No socialization for me, I guess.

Yesterday I went all over town, losing my cell phone somewhere in the process. I was everywhere, man. Larson's, The Little Italian Restaurant, the movie theater, Manney's, Amelia's. Everywhere.

Oddly enough I ran into Sex & Poverty at the Italian restaurant, and we got along grandly. Very odd indeed, considering how nastily I treat other people who have done far less to annoy me. It makes me feel like a hypocrite, not hating Sex & Poverty. Either I should treat everyone a little better, or simply start hating Sex & Poverty again. Decisions, decisions.

I wonder what's up in the larger world.

I've always said "nothing shows you care like cloak-and-dagger detective work." Or at least I'll start saying that, now.

It wasn't as big of deal as I made it into, (I was upset at the time, obviously, and I'm much more relaxed, now that I'm done with my xmas shopping and it's been a few days), but thanks guys.

I believe I'm done with my xmas shopping. At least, I bought everything I needed to for my family, because we celebrate xmas on Christmas eve. I've got plenty of new material goods to enjoy, now, which, along with going to church, has put me in a better mood.

My religious ramblings yesterday aside, I like the pomp and ritual of a Catholic mass. It's been such a part of my life growing up that whenever I go, it's like… like everything is normal again, I guess. Even not wanting to go is part of the tradition, and I certainly did not want to go, although I understood that I had to, of course.

I was actually a Eucharistic minister, which is a big deal and also something that busybody church ladies force on unsuspecting teenagers every xmas. That was interesting. After church I was in a better mood, like I said, from the weight of tradition and all, so now I'm watching Josh (my youngest brother) play The Simpson's Road Rage, which is probably the worst game on X-Box.

But then again, it's an X-Box, so I'm not about to complain. In any case, I've got new books to read and such, so later.

And now, I'm back.

The weekend has left me calmer and several gift certificates richer. There were books, too, but the Terry Pratschet book I just finished was so much like all his other two dozen books that I feel no need to single it out. It was good.

At the same time, I realize now that instead of that long sentence I could have just said "I read a book, it was good" but where's the fun in an uncomplicated world?

Likewise, that sentence was useless.

A superfluous sentence decrying redundancy. I'm choking on the bitter irony of it all.

No really, I am. If I had medication to take, here's where I would say "I think I'll take my medication now". Instead, I'll quickly change the subject.

There's a commercial for "Darren's Dance Grooves" on television (well, FX, which is a kind of television, I suppose) right now. If you've seen it, you understand.

Mass today, because at my gramma's house there's no way to get out of church, was odd. To be honest, it's been a while since I've been to church; that lazy agnosticism so crucial to being a lapsed Catholic has prevented me from attending masses at my parent's church (St. Christopher's, which is always interesting) or at my church (St. Andrew's, which is in town), and I can't say I like the idea of laziness deciding the fate of my immortal soul. Even if I didn't believe in an immortal soul, I think I'd still find that idea perplexing.

Come to think of it, I don't even know what I am, and religion is one place where I've always desired at least some sort of label. Even atheists have a label, and hence a religion, for all that they profess to deny it.

It's an important idea, one's religion. I used to be all for spiritualism, but, although I still like the thought, the fact that Kevin Smith preached the "ideas" religion in his movie Dogma makes having faith without some kind of religious label seem trendy and thoughtless.

I liked Clerks, though.

The first reading was Isaiah 7 (the one the faux rabbis are quoting at the beginning of Snatch), and I really had a problem with the way the priest explained it. He made it sound like Ahaz (the first guy in the Old Testament to be told that a virgin would give birth) was told "be a better person" instead of one of the most important prophesies in what would later become Christendom. Or maybe was prophesying. I'm really still confused, but the first reading is really just a launching point anyways.

I started chuckling to myself when the next song was that O Come O Come Emanuel song, simply because I imagined what the world would be like if the whole this was just a big misunderstanding and we were waiting for Kant, not Jesus. It wasn't that funny, but I was half-laughing at my own lameness, and at the fact that not a single person in the entire church would have laughed at my joke.

Another song was at one point a poem; you really could tell just by looking at the screen (this church doesn't have hymnals, because everyone just sings the words anyways, without bothering to hit the right note) that it was meant to be sung much differently than it was. The parishioners totally messed up the meter of the poem; I don't say this to be smug and superior, not entirely, but because it was really really obvious that the words did not go with the melody. I suppose it's not the parishioners' fault, anyways… looking back, that's the way the song was written when we sang it at my church.

Naturally I won't be telling you the name of this hymn, so that no one can prove me wrong.

I still don't really know what I am, probably some kind of Catholic-Agnostic, or merely a Cynic-Catholic. One day I'll buy the Catholic's Book of Heresies from newadvent.org and look myself up. It's really interesting to see a partisan view of some things, whether or not you agree.

I got carsick on the ride down to the cities, and on the ride to Cold Spring today, and prettymuch everytime I was in the car. No one believes me, but being in a car with the AM radio on is like the first time you walked into the grocery store and heard the sickening buzz of hundreds of fluorescent lights. At least for me. The constant buzzing of WCCO, which never comes in right, never goes away from my head, whether I'm blasting music in my headphones or reading intently. It always always makes me carsick, but only to the point where I complain and can do nothing but look out the window.

Being on my laptop for too long has the same effect; the constant whirring of its valiant little fan is just like the buzzing of lightbulbs or the soft hiss of radio static. I get a headache, I get queasy, and my symptoms just hover there for the rest of the day. Actually, when I think of xmas, that's what I think about; that feeling of being carsick and cramped in my mom's SUV. Not gifts or love or Jesus. The Garden Hotline and Garage Logic.

Speaking of Jesus, the homily (where the priest explains the Gospels and maybe the readings, for the grievously uninitiated) was horrible. I really have no grudge against the church but I guess this particular priest wasn't that good, to make so many mistakes. He painted Joseph as this guy who thought his wife had cheated on him, something I've heard many Christmases before but which is still quite clever, and very human, but then he made Mary into the usual demigod and Jesus apparently never cried or had need for a diaper, ever.

The apocryphal Gospel of St. Thomas shows Jesus as a human boy with supernatural powers and wisdom, but nevertheless unsure of what to do with said wisdom. He plays at turning stones into birds; he plays. That's what was missing entirely from this homily; the humanity. I want to hear that Joseph thought his wife was unfaithful at first, that was a good start, but I want to hear about Jesus wailing and Mary screaming as she gave birth. I mean, it didn't happen in a few seconds, right before that calm manger seen. It was labor. Something that, I understand, is very hard to do. And Jesus was a baby, too (for those who believe in him as an actual person; for me it really doesn't make a difference, because the idea is enough, I guess). Where's the screaming and the crying? Babies do that a lot.

But I digress; making the holy family seem inhuman and remote surely has it's benefits too, but I'm tired and I suspect that some of what I wrote is blasphemy in a few circles. The stuff about WCCO annoying me was surely blasphemy on the ride down. Honestly, my dad thinks he can laugh off my headaches, every year. As annoying as it is, I wouldn't stoop to that level.

Time Magazine has destroyed much of the esteem in which I held the media; Osama Bin Laden is no worse than Hitler or Stalin (a two-time winner) as Person of the Year, and to pick that New York mayor (whose name I can't spell) is, well, typical, if you read their online pro-Rudy editorials. I understand the motives, and that it's American Ignorance of what Person of the Year is supposed to mean (and the Ignorant Americans' threat to cancel subscriptions) that led to this stupid choice, but I'm annoyed at our citizens and the magazine.

That'll do, Dan, that'll do. And I'm done, and tired, and spent. Night.

Well, I'm off for the weekend. Have a nice weekend everyone.

Everyone, I should actually say, except for Mr. Discretion, who tried to use this webpage to ruin a very important friendship I am working hard to fix. Mr. Discretion, perhaps you should learn some social tact, whoever you are. The same goes for any possible Ms. Discretion, although that's perhaps less a jab at anyone than my attempt at gender equity.

I guess from now on I'll mention only people that no one who reads this web page knows, like The Poet or The Astrologer or Manney Anderson, but I can't say I enjoy the burdens of an expanded readership.

Although perhaps I'm merely a hypocrite for asking such favors; I was not so tactful myself when Graham's web page was busy earning it's motto, and perhaps this was simply poetic justice. In any case, my mentions of notable personas were always meant to be few and far between to begin with, and now they will most certainly remain that way.

Mr. Discretion, be you male or female, I forgive you your indiscretion, but I would ask that, as you are not capable of reading my page without shooting your mouth off to everyone, you cease to visit. As I said before, this was a quiet mountain town of a web page, and you've turned it into Aspen. You know who you are, even if I don't.

From the offended parties, I ask only forgiveness, my reasons aside.

There will be no more on this subject.

I'll do a mondo update monday or so, once I've gotten some primo x-mas presents from my relatives. Although with my reading list so backed up, I'm starting to wonder if perhaps I asked for too many books.

Speaking of books, I finished Wittgenstein's Mistress a few days ago, but I'm done with that author. If all that modernist fiction has to offer is David Markson's pompous ramblings, there's no use in continuing. Not that I should talk about pompous rambling, what really annoys me is all his name dropping.

Markson's, Graham. Relax.

I saw Lord of the Rings yesterday night, which was cool. It didn't blow me away but I'm glad that there's a good movie version of those quite excellent books. I also went to Poncho and Lefty's, but only later realized that I saw three of the waitresses there at Perkin's later that night. Perhaps I should stop eating at Poncho and Lefty's.

Anyways, everyone is yelling, which means we're late for x-mas, which means that we have to go, which means that I'm off. Later.

Time for another update, I suppose. Happy Tuesday.

Yesterday I saw Vanilla Sky, which succeeded in confusing me; I still don't know if I liked it or not. Casting Tom Cruise was definetely a mistake.

Also, joy of joys, I got my books in the mail. I read The Time Machine before I went into town, and I'm really looking forward to reading the rest of my very expensive Amazon.com order.

Now, though, I'd rather watch reruns of Hawaii Five-O. I'm learning all about the Hawaiian mafia. And someone named 'Dan-O'.

Hogan's Heroes is on now, but it's TV-G. No thanks.

I get to judge a debate tournament today, maybe. Which is good, I think; it'll be interesting to see that debate team dynamic, now that Graham and I are absent.

More to come today; here's the post I was gonna put up yesterday before Blogger crapped out on me, as it were:

Saturday. Back home. There�s really nothing quite like it. I know I�m posting this a day late, but I�m writing it Saturday, and there�s really really nothing quite like it.

Then again, most of you wouldn�t know; I�m quite alone here, with the exception of Manney and That Girl, who also got back from Wisconsin yesterday. Larson came and went, already, to the frigid north.

The ride back was good, I made small talk with the girl I was getting a ride with; it greatly helped the conversation when I pretended to know nothing of biology, her intended major. Ah, the little white lies that get us through it all.

My van was waiting for me, and the four hour drive back home was nothing. I decided that rather than listen to the radio or sing, I�d spend four hours with my thoughts. My brain decided that I�d spend those four hours with Save Ferris� rendition of Video Killed the Radio Star, as well, for better or for worse.

Whenever I managed to force the wretched song out of my head momentarily, I actually got some quality thinking done. Not about anything important, but about some practical matters of small importance to me. It�s all coming along nicely.

Bwahahaha, as they say; well, as I say, in any case.

Oddly enough, I got invited by my brother to a shin-dig at Nate Ebertowski�s house, and after driving 200 miles successful, I managed to get lost on the way here. I had no clue it was next to Henrik�s house. Anyways, when I got there, they were just finishing up a nickel-poker game, and true family form, Matt (my brother, ignorant readers) had won $4.00. I have to say that�s impressive. My brothers and I have good luck with cards.

I talked with the assorted seniors there for about an hour and a half, managing every now and then to stear the conversation away from fishing. Ah yes, and this one friend of Matt�s, who shall remain nameless because I have no clue what his name is, is �looking at Music schools� because he�s a big musical genius and all, yet had �never heard of Lawrence.� Or any of the other big music schools that Lawrence con-ies, like, say, my roomate, talk about incessently. In short, he was full of crap, and it pisses me off that he hadn�t heard of my school. Probably more than it should. I thought I had it pretty bad, what with the boredom and geographical isolation and all, but some people, I've realized, have it worse at college. Go Lawrence!

That was my jaunt into high school society for this break, unless you count my feeble attempt to do something with Manney tonight, admittedly at prettymuch the last minute. Instead, I participated in a good old-fashioned sibling Mariokart-o-rama, which didn�t mean leaving the house. We played for hours, and I had my mp3 player going in the background so as to foist my musical taste upon my brethren.

I got a call from That Girl, who seemed nice enough; needless to say our past got in the way a few times but it wasn�t that bad of conversation overrall. After� the unpleasantness� it was amazing that she could talk to me, although it does seem that I�m still the villian, that she never did anything bad to me, and that she has a compulsive need to mention her frequent socialization with the guy at her college who has a crush on her. And note that she�d say more, but that it�d just make me feel bad or awkward. I applaud her restraint.

Guys, o women of the world, are not social locusts that take everything they can from a woman then move on. Our actions are motivated by these �emotions� that you often speak of, not lust for power or an urge to taste the sweet tears of feminine sorrow. When a guy dumps a girl, he probably feels bad enough already without getting heaps of guilt dumped upon him, and, well, he may just have been thinking of his girlfriend�s wellbeing when he made the decision in the first place.

I know I�m blogging about my personal life a bit much here, and I�m sorry. But what I call passive-aggressiveness pisses me off; I can�t express why in words, exactly, but, well, it�s perverse and wrong. I try, not always successfully, not to treat people like that, and I don�t see why they should act like that to me. I hate people too cowardly to express their feelings, yet who persist in trying to hurt me, more than anything in the world.

She�s really not that bad. I always told myself that I wouldn�t use a web page to demonize anyone (how could I outdo the Kirsten infernalization, in any case?) and I�m not going to start now. I still want to be her friend, and I am, and I�m calling her Monday. We're both trying, so I should just shut up. Enough of this.

Graham is laying a trail of Turkish food and x-mas shopping to lure me to the cities, which would conveniently give him a ride home. It�s absolutely diabolical, and it�s working.

I talked to Dylan today, which was cool; everyone is gonna be back Thursday, from the looks of it. Well, this is already a long entry for something I�m writing the night before, so I guess I�ll stop. Later all.

Last night at college. More to come.

It's late and I've accidently deleted an entire log entry irrevocably about twice now. Yes, I am an idiot. I also cannot get my archive to post correctly.

I ate with The Astrologer today, and remembered her name. I was right, you see, and that was good.

Otherwise nothing is new, I had thoughts but I've written them out twice already and I'm frustrated and tired. So they're lost forever.

Schade, as the Germans say. There's no English word that's quite the same.

As for current events and log entries and such, I have nothing to add that hasn't already been said, except to observe that I have nothing to add.

In any case, I'm cramming myself into a truck with a total stranger and her dad tomorrow afternoon, which should be interesting. It's all about getting back to the van.

And just in case I die in a hideous car accident, I'd like to add one final promise, for you all to remember: I'll see you soon.

I'll talk to most of y'all when I get back to Brainerd.

Well, it looks like, if I forget the three page German paper I have to write tonight, I'm done with all my finals. The English final was great; afterwards I wasn't quite out of English mode so I read all of the book I got yesterday: Reader's Block. It was good, but the author, David Markson, is quite full of himself, and it shows.

It took me a while in any case, because I got into a conversation with The Astrologer, who was trying to study calculus in the Colman hall lounge (perhaps the quietest place in my building, especially when my hedonistic neighbors insist on playing their punk rock so loudly) but gave up, endeavoring instead to converse with me. I don't remember her real name, although I suspect it's Adrianne (since she's told me about twenty times by now, and that name seems familiar)

Which was ok, because as an Aquarius I get along with everyone pretty easily (or so the distant, unrelated actions of the cosmos tell me), and I'm naturally talkative with people who I know already, as is the case with The Astrologer.

Anyways, apparently I need to read something by Neil Gaiman -This Insurrectionist recommended it yesterday and The Astrologer seconded that opinion. But not American Gods; I read an except and it was sub-par.

Still writing my essay. I think I'll allow myself to believe that I'll wake up tomorrow refreshed, brimming with the two additional pages I need. In grammatically correct German. Before 11:30. Eh, I'll live.

I set my ride home in stone today; I'm getting to Rice Lake on Friday around six by riding with some girl and her dad. In a pickup with no backseat, so it should be awkwardly cosy. For all that I shrug off the four hour car ride, four hours is a long time, now that I think about it.

The Poet is leaving tomorrow. The Insurrectionist is leaving tomorrow. That Fellow is leaving tomorrow. Our neighbors and half our floor, it seems, are leaving tomorrow. It's just Greg and I and the Residence Life Assistants, I guess. And my ride to Rice Lake, in her room on the second floor.

Tomorrow will be nice, but only after I have my paper done.

Cheers to Manney and Graham, who have plugged me repeatedly recently, it seems.

Jeers to the six billion people who will never visit my site, ever.

Then again, I don't care. A very versatile statement, that, for all my new-found humanism.

Two dozen writers are swirling around in my head, bumping into other ideas; I need to clean house but there's too much to do. I'm not stressing, because I don't really get stressed about stuff, especially not when I'm tired. But if I were stressing, I'd be stressing about my British Writers final, which is, of course, tomorrow.

Thankfully, my mastery of the art of procrastination makes writing under pressure a tad easier for me, so I'm free to worry about the identification section, which will suck.

I finally got Reader's Block today, and I'm really excited. I started reading it and just got swept in; so swept in that I almost missed our German party, which was fun, if a trifle tedious. It was at the professor's house, and she has rats and children. Both were quite hyperactive around us students, except for the fat rat, which had serious health problems, being three times the size of the 'slim' rat and all.

Additionally, I talked to The Insurrectionist today, and was reduced to gibbering absurdities in arguments of taste, mainly because most of my opinions are expressed in extremes (i.e. "I hate The Blazing World" or "John Carpenter is the devil") that I can't back up with actual conviction or reason. To think I lost an argument to a Beastie Boys fan.

So I'm gonna try to drop all my extreme opinions, except the ones that I actually believe wholeheartedly, in an attempt to be a better person. It may or may not work out, but I'd rather be myself than so much bluster. I'll still use them in jokes and such, of course, but my histrionics are at an end. Yes, 'histrionics' used in a sentence.

Speaking of words, there's an essay about the more mundane parts of my vocabulary in the Thoughts section. I can't qualify it enough: it's not that exciting, folks. Still, you know the drill.

I'm off to my Freshman Studies final, and, as usually happens before any big test, I have Brandy's "It's Possible" song from the WB's multiracial Cinderella Spectacular stuck in my head.

"It's possible! For a big old pumpkin to become a golden carriage!"
"It's possible! For a plain old country bumpkin and a prince to join in marriage!"

And so on. Thanks, Brandy. Well, off to the test.

I just came back from the aforementioned review session, featuring, as promised, Enlightened One, The Poet, Free Spirit, Wacky Ed, and, as a special surprise, the two most annoying people in the class: Sockless Pete and The Misinterpreter. Needless to say, it was one of the study session that only feels like it was productive; granted, I refreshed my memory and I do feel better prepared, but looking back I didn't learn anything. I did get to know all the assorted persons at this meeting better, though, which was for the most part a good thing.

Sockless Pete reminds me of myself after taking AP U.S. History from Lade in high school; everything has a historical context with him, and sadly I'm not smart enough to refute statements that my gut tells me are wrong. I really doubt that Oronooko, as described in Aphra Behn's story with the same name, ever existed. And Suriname and colonial America are only the 'same place' for someone who hasn't read Oronooko, or looked at a map. Although I really have no idea where Suriname is, or how to spell 'Oronooko', either.

I suppose I should also mention that I have never seen Sockless Pete wear socks but it seems so painfully obvious.

After the study session, I apologized to The Poet for the unpleasantness from earlier, and I think we understand each other now, without any awkwardness. She's going out with That Fellow, too, which is what I wanted to happen. I guess I played freshman-match too, even if I didn't admit it.

I'm going to abandon this subject, because I just wrote something that could go in any chick-flick. Dan, be not proud.

I got introduced to Tenacious D's "Greatest Song in the World Tribute" a few days ago, and today it set a new record in the category of The Longest Time Stuck In My Head, beating the previous record holder, Fuel's "Shimmer" at two consecutive hours, with a new record of four consecutive hours. The melody of this song never left my thoughts for a solid, uninterrupted four hours. Congratulations, Tenacious D.

I had the vocal part of my German final today, and miraculously and expectedly I did well - it was extemporaneous speaking, but my topic was "Describe a memorable trip you took with friends". Fellow roadtrippers, I rejoiced.

For dinner I sat with The Poet, The Insurrectionist, That Fellow, and two girls who were too silent to warrant such wildly creative nicknames. I got That Fellow laughing so hard that he had trouble breathing momentarily, which is quite a feat, considering that the people that normally do that around me are asthmatic. That was before I 'officially' (yes, I do feel like I'm back in seventh grade) knew about The Poet and That Fellow, but I've never seen a more obvious couple. Not touchy feel-y, but… good gads. A more cynical Dan would have thrown up at the sight, but it warms my idealist heart.

Ah yes, Idealism is the victor in the long struggle against Materialism. I'm still somewhat Materialistic (in the sense that by 'materialism' I mean a concern with utility that forces me to derive me values not from the dialectic but from observation of the world, allowing me to create really convoluted sentences full of words like 'utility' and 'derive') but Idealism (in the sense that by 'idealism' I mean a love of values (the ones I found in my form (wow, three sets of parentheses) of materialism) and high-minded concepts and such) is the reigning champion, now that I'm so freakin' touchy feel-y and crap all of a sudden.

More than perhaps any other work, I want to read Swift's "Digression in Praise of Digressions".

Well, that wraps it up, I guess. Most of the day was computing and slacking and such, here are the good bits for your minds to gnaw on. Yeah, that one didn't work for me either; there's something about the word 'gnaw'. I've got a final tomorrow for Freshman Studies, so, yeah, time for some sleep and stuff.

I'm not going to pretend that my life is more exciting than it is; I enjoy it just fine, and that's enough for me. In other words, I didn't do anything last night, and I'm trying not to feel guilty, when I know that it was only my own misanthropic laziness that kept me from social activities like a trip to the steakhouse or the Christmas dance.

I did watch The Big Lebowski again, and a few episodes of South Park. Same old, same old.

This morning I was terrified beyond your comprehension, when I discovered that the server on campus was down. No internet. No email. MSN was my only contact with the outside world. I tried again and again to play Counterstrike… again and again… nothing. There was nothing. It was too horrible to contemplate.

So I thought about albinos. Do you know anything about albinos? I know that there are albino versions of prettymuch every animal (frogs, snakes, bison…) but that they don't last long in nature. I'd imagine that the cold-blooded animals would have an especially hard times. Likewise, human albinos, at least in my experience (meaning, of course, what I gleaned from the albino character in Me, Myself, & Irene), are vulnerable to the sun's horrible UV rays. Do albinos get any abilities to make up for this deficiency? Like super-strength or super-intelligence? It just seems wrong that nature would create weaker people without compensating in some way.

Then my internet came back. No plans for today; mayhaps some reading.

I swallowed floss this morning, and it's still bothering me. I don't know how someone could swallow floss, but I just did, and I don't know what's gonna happen. It's going to preoccupy my thinking the whole day. On a brighter note, I may or may not have a study session today with some of the all-stars from my English class. Enlightened One and The Poet and Free Spirit and Wacky Ed; that should be cool. Although The Misinterpreter may also drop by (he lives just down the hall from Wacky Ed), and I can't abide his constant… well… you know… of the texts.

You see, The Misinterpreter is not dumb, as far as I can tell. He's quite well-intentioned, but nevertheless, consistently and predictably, he misinterprets every text we read, be it a simple sonnet or Aphra Behn's The Rover. Shakespeare was a flaming homosexual. Chaucer's The Wife of Bath was a streetwalker. Et cetera ad infinitum. Also, he always prefaces his comments with "I thought it was interesting" or "Yeah, how I saw that was". The whole class involuntarily cringes when they hear that, because we're all too timid and nice to call him out, but we know that he's going to say something moronic. He's getting better though, in the sense that he doesn't talk as much. Then again, I'm done with him after Wednesday. Man, I want another English class, but I can only take one this year. My brain is going to turn into a fine paste during the next term.

In other news, I'm told that Arno (The Lanky German) will be visiting this summer, mayhaps. We'll see. That'd be cool, though.

I hate Fruitopia because it uses vague concepts and clever marketing to sell crappy drinks like 'Strawberry Passion Awareness' at inflated prices. But I love Sobe for the same reasons. Well, that's hypocrisy for you. Later.

Well, right now there's an x-mas dance going on, and well, I may or may not go (stag, of course, like all the really cool guys, and the really geeky guys, do). So I'll do an update later, that's a bit more comprehensive…

I was reading the news though, and the incessant and annoying coverage inspired me to write my own message to America. As always, go to the "Thoughts" section. Directly to your right and straight on 'till morning. Until later.

Well, since I was lax today, I slapped a phony ending on a longer rant titled Insomnia. Use the link to the right, if you ever want to read it. Enjoy, I guess. It's really late. What am I doing up??

It's two in the morning, actually; I don't know what this four in the afternoon crap is.

I think that sex existed before the 1960s. I know its a surprising revelation, but… there's no other way to explain the sexual innuendo in the 1930s children's film "Emil und die Detektive" that we watched in German class today. A boy with a horn is his pocket. Add a sweet, innocent looking girl. I'd rather not dwell on it, and certainly your sick, modern minds have already jumped far beyond the conclusion that I'm trying to insinuate. Needless to say, my world was turned upside-down.

Lunch today was also a pleasant experience; I sat with The Insurrectionist and this girl (a friend of his) who I met in the lunch line; she liked the movie [Pi], so needless to say we all had pleasant dinner table conversation. Oddly enough, the guy I sat with at dinner was also a big [Pi] fan; I know it�’s a popular movie, but it�’s rare to meet two outspoken fans of it in one day.

I suppose I should take this moment defend [Pi] from those of you who think its irritating. Its a good movie, especially for it's 2 million dollar budget (that�’s how much it would have cost without all the favors they pulled; the actually operating costs approach Blair Witch Project standards). There are so many reasons to like [Pi]: the kind of conspiracy at work, for example, the math (which, even though I'm told its incorrect and horrible, is nonetheless mystifying), and a rushing pace that falls short of the gimmicky peppiness that made Snatch so much worse than Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels. I can go on, and I usually do, but for now I'd just like to get Friday posted, even if it�’s no longer technically Friday.

Ah, the boredom! This is, as you have no doubt noticed, irecurringring theme in my web-log, and today was for the most part no exception. But it was a good day, really:

There was pleasant conversation for both my meals (breakfast, something people do before 11:00 am, is far too early to be bothered with), a decent grade on my last freshman studies paper, a movie in German class, and a LAN party tonight, which just ended. I also saw the Yellow Submarine movie (starring The Beatles) tonight, which was cool both because prettymuch everyone I know was there (I got invited to quite a few things, just being there) and because it was a totally different kind of movie �–something I said about Moulin Rouge, too, before I found out that many of its gags were just lifted from this, much earlier, film.

For me, its time to sleep; any further effort would just add to the confused jumble of an entry that I�’ve created here. Good night, Never-Never Land.

Stupid seniors. I really like them, and they�re well intentioned, but… stupid seniors.

I should just wear a shirt all the time that says �I�m single and I�m perfectly fine staying that way.� On the back it could say �Please, no social engineering.� I think I�m actually embittered; a new feeling.

Of course I�m going to explain. What�s the hurry? Well, in any case, today in English class, the bestest class in the whole world, I got there somewhat early, and Free Spirit and Enlightened One were both there, joking around. Enlightened One was doing a pirouette, as I recall. Now these folks, as you might guess, are both seniors and just all-around great people. Enlightened One is bald and easy-going, and Free Spirit, she's just easy going, I guess. Relax, I'll name names if I ever see these people outside of class.

So, Enlightened One apparently was playing freshmen match-up, which is what I call the inherent tendency to want to fix up people younger than you. I used to call that 'being Graham' , but my good buddy shaped up after all the relentless mockery we directed at him. So now its freshmen match-up. Apparently, he and Free Spirit decided before I came that I was supposed to fall in love with The Poet and marry her, and of course she would return the favor in kind. I have no problem with The Poet, she's a really nice girl and such, but I don't want a relationship like that, although I would like to hang out with her (and a few other people) more often; nice folks, they are. She's a fellow English geek, you see, and that's so rare these days…

Which reminds me of a rule I just made up: two English majors can never have a relationship. Economically, it just wouldn't work. Its like a philosopher marrying an artist. Although I suppose, as always, that this 'love' thing would find a way, if it was strong enough. Personally though, I just don't feel like a relationship for a long time, and I certainly don't have any wish to have one with The Poet, regardless of my respect for her.

So anways, all through class these seniors are giggling, and making jokes, especially Enlightened One -this is probably the first time he's ever got on my nerves. Naturally, I hadn't gone into why I didn't want a relationship; my romantic history, however short, is not anything I felt like getting into with two people I've never seen outside of class. At the end of class Enlightened One made an obvious joke; I think he wanted her to get it, and everthing came out.

I had to sit through another "you know why it would never work" speech (not exactly my first, either) which, in my universal experience, is a girl's way of saying she's not interested in you and could never see herself with you, ever. I agreed, of course, but I dislike being patronized like that. Just say "no, i'm not interested in him, and i think he thinks the same" instead of pretending there's some secret code-talk between us and we've discussed the matter previously in detail. Am I supposed to miraculously divine some forordained reason why we can't be together? Alien Nazis from the future, perhaps? Don't insult my intelligence. You're not attracted to me. I'll get over it, I'm a big boy.

More than that, though, the awkwardness that those seniors have forced upon me annoys me. I had to explain some of my situation to them, so not only is my private life exposed to strangers who'll never understand, yet still pity, me; I also got rejected by a girl I was never planning to ask out, and now it'll be like I got shot down, when it was Enlightened One who was manning my plane. I hope I can still have some sort of friendship with The Poet, but the chances of that are marred now. Stupid seniors.

Not much happening today, yet, but I'm working on it.

Another day. Last night I managed to write an entire Chuang Tzu essay structured around ingenious wordplay and quotes from The Simpsons. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and actually it still does, because I had fun with that essay. Being finished also has the added advantage of no longer having to view the world through the eyes of a Taoist, which I found myself doing (in a poser sort of way) all week while I was working on it. After I had finished my essay; around 1:30 in the morning, I decided to e-mail people, and anyone who's been around me when I'm really tired knows how little judgment I have left in the odd hours of the morning.

I emailed a bunch of people who'd been waiting for replies for a while (except Flo, who I neglected once more, simply because, after about two months of waiting, he deserves a really long email) and ended with an email to my aunt that makes it sound (if you read it, the email itself doesn't make sound) like I'm drunk. Luckily, I got a humorous email back, which I wasn't expecting at all; my aunt is apparently very funny. The rest of the unanswered emails are a job for tonight, I guess.

Today we had a presentation in German class courtesy of The Ukrainian, who I've decided to call The Ukrainian simply because no one really cares to know the names of people they'll never meet. He talked about the wonders of the Euro, which he seems to be madly in love with, and for perhaps the first time in months, a political issue got a rise out of me. I mean, the Euro?? Aren't rubles and pesos more stable than Europe's crazy-crazy currency?

Speaking of crazy, I've started referring to vegetarians as
'crazy-tarians'. So far, no one seems to mind.

Anyways, back to my day. There's not much left to it, at the moment. I have to read Paradise Lost (chapter 9) tonight, which'll be fun; I really like Milton, as opposed to most other poetry. I actually went to a poetry reading earlier this week, and I swear it was all "the sun is like your lips" and "my love is an everlasting spring". I prefer apocalyptic battles, thank you, so for the next reading, despite my lack of poetic powers, I'm going to write some anti-poetry. At the very least it'll give me a few minutes respite from the incessant train of beatniks reading blank verse in my beloved coffeehouse. Which reminds me; for longer essays, I'm going to reinstate the Thoughts sections which, as none of you know, I was planning for my old webpage. Which sadly requires me to have some thoughts, a task I'm currently working on. Well, that's that, for now, but I'll probably be bored enough to blog a little later tonight.

And so it goes. Well, I tinkered with this page for quite a bit, and here's the finished product, at least for now. Blogger still seems a little too sterile for me -with good old html I always felt like I was getting my hands dirty, even if I sucked at it. Today, well, today was the all-consuming Blogger day; hopefully no one looked here. This page must have gone through about five different facelifts, from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves style to Night at the Roxbury. This style I think is called Oxygen, The Network for Women.
Meanwhile, in the real world I've prettymuch neglected, the first trimester (or 'term') is drawing to a close, and I couldn't be less excited. I've decided that the passage of time no longer wows me. Its not like its a suprise that the semester is ending. This revelation actually isn't that new; I've never been big on birthdays (as some of my friends have hopefully failed to notice), even my own. Its just not that impressive, because nothing has happened. More on this later, maybe. Well, probably not. The day was uneventful. Time to feed my computer game addiction.

Well, of course it looks like crap. Come back in a week and you'll be wowed.